


Nothing To Do But Smile

by Nabielka



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Fingerfucking, Public Sex, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 20:21:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nabielka/pseuds/Nabielka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh, the Queen, is it?” Jaime laughed, and lifted her hand up for a kiss as if she were still a blushing maiden, lips brushing her skin for barely a second. “Hardly what comes to my mind when looking at you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing To Do But Smile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luvscharlie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvscharlie/gifts).



> Title comes from Simon & Garfunkel's The Only Living Boy in New York. Written as an extra Yuletide treat.

Cersei lifted the goblet up to her lips and did not stop drinking until she thought her lips were stained red like the wine, deeper and darker than the red of the House she would always belong to at heart. Then she placed it carelessly on the table, barely registering the clang as it brushed against her untouched plate. She pulled her hand back, resting it on the armrest separating her chair from the empty throne at her side.

Below the dais, visible even through the crowd of dancers, the man she did not at heart consider her husband was groping yet another serving wretch, evidently with favours as free as her hair. As Cersei watched, Robert dragged the girl with him to a side bench, half-hidden by shadow, and pulled her, unresisting, down to his lap, spreading her legs out around his own.

The whore laughed, tossing her dark hair back, as his fleshy hand crept unstealthily under her skirts. Robert laughed too, hazy and flushed with wine in a way Cersei had never dared allow herself to become, all too aware that all it would take was a murmur.

She made herself look away, unaware that she was searching for Jaime until she realised she couldn’t find him among the crowd of unruly guests. The only knights in white were Ser Meryn and Ser Barristan, who was standing by the door, his back perfectly straight even in blatant discomfort.

“Looking for me?” said a voice from behind her, hands reaching out around the throne to rest on her shoulders, and Cersei jumped, startled by their coldness.

“Careful, ser,” she said in feigned seriousness, though she couldn't hold back a smile. “You presume far too much. None may touch the Queen.”

“Oh, the Queen, is it?” Jaime laughed, and lifted her hand up for a kiss as if she were still a blushing maiden, lips brushing her skin for barely a second. “Hardly what comes to my mind when looking at you.”

“As Her Grace’s brother, it must be hard for you to think of her as anything but,” interjected Lord Mace Tyrell, executing a wobbly bow at the foot of the dais. Cersei glanced down at him, and forced herself to smile. “I must retire for the night, Your Grace. I had thought to tell the king, but,” the idiot glanced down, apparently realising his own stupidity, “I thought perhaps my interruption would not be appreciated.”

“Indeed,” Cersei gritted out, and then, when his lordship did not appear to feel inclined to move, added, “You have our leave, of course.”

“Your Grace is too kind,” and, rising swiftly to his feet, he walked away, turning his back far too soon for propriety.

When he had gone, Jaime bent down to whisper in her ear, hot breath against her skin making her shiver. “Not what I had in mind at all.”

“This isn’t the time, Jaime,” she said, turning her head round to face him.

He moved away, and for a minute of both disappointment and urgent relief Cersei thought he would listen. Instead, he walked around to sit himself by her side, as unhesitant as if he truly belonged in a throne meant for another king he hated, just as much as he belonged with her, in her.

“You can’t sit there,” she hissed, but he only shrugged and smirked at her. She glanced back to the corner where her husband had situated himself to see him still pawing at the girl, her tits bouncing in his hand as he thrust up into her. Cersei couldn’t see him clearly enough, but she thought his trousers were probably already unlaced. “You’re not the king.”

Jaime laughed, eyes still fixed on her. “Robert will be too drunk to care. He won’t even deign to come back here.”

“Even so.”

Her brother leant in to talk to her, one hand reaching out to rest on her leg. Unconsciously, Cersei found herself mirroring him. “You won’t care soon enough anyway. You’re already wet for me.”

It wasn’t true yet, but Cersei found herself flushing anyway, cheeks burning nearly as much as her thigh burnt from the pressure of his hand, covered from the eyes of onlookers by the elaborate tablecloth covering the high table, which although it had turned significantly more colourful during the feast still retained its helpful length.

“You think far too much of yourself,” she commented.

Jaime merely shrugged. “False humility wouldn’t suit me in the least, sweet sister. Besides,” he paused, sliding his hand slowly up her thigh until it rested nearly at her cunt. Once there, he moved it gently, rubbing in small circles until she gasped, barely biting her lip in time to prevent a moan from slipping out, though it filled her mouth with the steely taste of blood. “You think that much of me too.”

“Once again you presume too much,” Cersei said, and was rewarded with a bright smile and a sharp, aching pressure as his fingers prodded at the entrance to her cunt. “Jaime,” she gasped as they slid gently in, “this really isn’t the time.”

Jaime didn’t listen. He had always been stubbornly fearless, and she sometimes feared that if anyone ever discovered them, he wouldn’t even pull away, just keep on fucking her in their presence, unmindful of the consequences.

“There’s never the right time,” he acknowleged, unmoved. “We’ll have to make it for ourselves.”

“Not here,” she insisted, though a quick glance around the hall showed that no one was paying them any particular attention. For a minute, Cersei felt slightly insulted, though of course it was far safer that way.

“We should go,” he suggested. “Robert will be too spent to come to your bed tonight.”

“Not yet,” she hissed back, eyes flickering across the room. “It’ll be too obvious; too few of them have left yet.”

“But you want to,” Jaime said, as if that ever mattered nowadays. “You want me so much you’ll let me fuck you against the wall like some whore so common she has the pox, biting down at my shoulder to stop yourself from screaming my name as I pound into you.” He arched his fingers up like a tantalising promise. “You’re so wet I could use your juices as oil to clean my sword.”

Then he paused, and after an experimental twist of his fingers, added, “We could use it as oil, and I could screw you from behind without any trouble, and you’d moan for me all the same.”

Cersei reached out to clasp his wrist, sinking her nails deeply into the thin skin at the bone, though her face burned from his words.

“Stop talking” she commanded.

Jaime wriggled his hand free from her grip, fingers still inside her. “Only if we leave now,” he said.

"You dare?", Cersei snapped, even though her cunt was already clenching around him, her whole body arching up ever so slightly to meet his, as irresistable as a magnet.

He smiled like spiced honey, sweet with more than a hint of mischief. "If all women were like you, no man would ever want for heirs."

"Do you actually want anything to happen tonight? You seem to be doing a fine job of ruining your own chances."

"You'd only be punishing yourself. You can't get enough of me." As if to illustrate his point, Jaime arched his fingers roughly up, pushing them further into her so far she wanted to scream.

"Jaime, they'll see," she managed to gasp out, though her voice was less than firm.

"I don't care. I'll kill anyone who tries to stop me," he answered, spare hand brushing almost unconsciously across the pommel of the sword at his hip.

"You can't kill them all," Cersei pointed out, gesturing at the crowd. "They outnumber you over a hundred to one."

But Jaime only laughed. "They're all drunk," he said, drunk on lust and arrogance, the easy confidence of someone used to having it all.

"So they'd make a mess of it, but they'd kill you all the same. Just for touching me. I could have you dead in an instant."

He did not seem perturbed. "You'd only damn yoursef in the process. We were born together, we'll die together."

"I could live just fine without you!" she insisted.

"Your cunt would shrivel up from disuse," he said. "It's not like Robert will ever give you a proper fucking. You'd miss me soon enough."

"I could take other lovers," Cersei said, though the prospect made her feel nauseous.

In answer, Jaime pulled his fingers almost completely out of her and then slammed them back in, reminiscent of their rough fucking, and Cersei couldn't prevent the sharp inhale of breath at the feeling, barely able to stop herself from moaning. "You can't do this," she insisted.

"Seems I can, dear sister," he said, but kept still. "You know, I'd take you right here on this table, in full sight of everyone present, and you'd be screaming my name too hard to notice their stares. We'd give them a show they'd never forget." He leaned back, laughing. "It'll put Robert in his place at least. Show him he's not the only one who can sleep with whoever they choose. Maybe they'd call me the Queenfucker then. "

"Are you mad?" she snapped, more frightened than angry.

"Perhaps," he acknowledged, pulling out of her to wipe his fingers on the tablecloth. "But you don't really care."

And then he stood up and pulled her up to lead her, unresisting, out of the hall.


End file.
